"When you're in jail, a good friend will be trying to bail you out. A best friend will be in the cell next to you saying, 'Damn, that was fun'."
— Groucho Marx

July 27, 2010

Flecks of Grey

I sit at the table staring at the screen while I wonder what words will work best. Mulling, debating and considering which combination of nouns, verbs and adjectives will most effectively transmit the message that I wish for you to take from this.

Ear buds firmly implanted inside my ears I listen to iTunes send forth song after song while I pretend to be in an "old time newsroom" listening to the clickety-clack of a tired old typewriter. Every I hear the silent ding, stop typing and roll the paper down a notch so that I can resume typing on the next line. It won't do to type over the lines that I have already composed.

It doesn't matter that the 'e' sometimes sticks or that the paper is already riddled with splashes of liquid paper. This is Pulitzer Prize winning material. Really, it is not bad. Not bad at all, somewhere between decent, nifty and elegant the words tell a story that we all can relate to.

Three cups of coffee later I can't fight nature any longer and head off to the head. Two minutes, three shakes and a big sigh of relief go by before I catch my reflection in the mirror. It was just a flash, but I think that I spotted something in my hair. Have to stop and figure out if the light is playing tricks on me or is it what I think.

Are there really flecks of grey splattered across the side of my head. A careful and cautious inspection is undertaken amidst feelings of ambivalence. Another milestone has been reached- it is not flecks of paint or pieces of fuzz stuck amongst the dark hair. Nope, there are a few malcontents trying to instigate a mutiny among the crew.

In the grand scheme of life it is not that important- hair color isn't as important as health. It is unlikely to have much of any impact if any on my life.